A Semi-Unwilling Accomplice in Sort Of Everything
by VelvetyNightSky
Summary: AU. In which Luke Skywalker, an almost-fifteen year old slightly amnesiac galaxy-feared thief, ends up becoming a Jedi. How, he's still not sure. However, Luke does know that Master Anakin is a little weird, Princess Leia Organa is annoying as ever, and Supreme Chancellor Amidala is even freakier than Master Anakin. Oh, and there's that old Emperor guy still trying to kill him...
1. A Really Annoying Interruption

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**A SEMI-UNWILLING ACCOMPLICE IN SORT OF EVERYTHING**

Rated for mild language and suggestive jokes.

Let the fic commence!

_Chapter One_

_A Really Annoying Interruption_

The Supreme Chancellor of the Senate of the Galactic Republic sat stiffly at her desk, staring bitterly out over the Coruscanti skyline.

Fourteen years.

Fourteen years since the former Chancellor Palpatine's failed takeover of the Galactic Republic.

The Supreme Chancellor's hand tightened spasmodically over her stylus. There was no Galactic Empire, but his takeover was not _entirely _failed.

Palpatine certainly hadn't gotten all he wanted, but the former Chancellor had successfully installed himself as Emperor: the figurehead of the Republic who controlled the military and the judicial branch, and simply _was _the executive branch. Along with his little toadies, that was.

Well, except for her. She, the Supreme Chancellor of the Galactic Congress and elected nearly thirteen years ago to the day, was in charge of the legislative branch and supposedly held the true power of the government. No doubt that _she _made the laws and approved the Emperor's decisions, but Palpatine himself was gaining power every day.

His original ascension to power had come with his debunking of the Jedi, but he thankfully never managed to alienate the Jedi nor enact Order 66 as the Jedi had more control over the clonetroopers. The Emperor daren't do anything drastic now with the Jedi watching, but the Jedi were in no place of power to do anything with the Senate supporting Palpatine's position.

And hers.

And that, truly, was all that mattered.

* * *

Luke Skywalker found himself, for the four hundred and fifty-third time in the latest three of his measly fourteen years, staring blankly at the grimy plaster ceiling above a corner booth in a shady Tatooinian cantina he was parked in.

Of course, it wasn't the _worst _ceiling in the world to be staring at - it beat staring at the ceiling of a bounty hunter's cargo hold or one of an Alderaanian pleasure cruiser. Or a Coruscanti diner. Or the business end of a rancor pit.

Luke Skywalker, galactic thief extraordinaire and secret part-time Jawa Juice enthusiast, had to admit he could've been found in worst places then a filthy Tatooinian cantina in Anchorhead at three in the morning.

After all, if you wake up at age seven on a planet you don't know with people you don't know who claim to be your aunt and uncle and not remembering any of your life up until that point, your tolerance for strange circumstances goes up a few notches.

(Especially when your loving aunt and uncle who cared for you, nursed you back to health, and assuaged your trauma over not having any memories brutally murdered by Tusken Raiders while you were sitting in a cellar, age nine and hidden and useless. Then nearly starving to death under the brutal heat of dual suns for the two days you took the time to bury your aunt and uncle's bodies and having to leave the only home you ever knew with only your uncle's blaster for a town that was an inch above a cesspool of crime in search of work was another strange circumstance.

…and _then_ having to resort to pickpocketing after two weeks of dodging slavers and police as your means of survival. Then discovering you are, actually, a _very _good thief and spending the next five years of life scaling buildings to sleep in empty hotel rooms and nicking still-steaming plates of food from restaurants also kicks up the Strange-O-Meter a few more notches.

Of course, don't forget those times when you would stowaway on freighters and bounty ships, hop off on a planet you didn't know, and then successfully steal the most expensive item on said planet.

And Luke Skywalker would rather swallow vibroblades then admit that he was even the most microscopic bit unhappy with his lifestyle.)

So, when the door opened to admit someone into the cantina empty of all but an old cleaning droid and the glow of the stars, Luke didn't even bother to look over his feet that were stacked on the table.

However, when the late-night wanderer sat down in _his _booth, Luke kindly shoved his feet to one side so the man sitting in front of him could lean his elbows and place a pile of flimsies on the scrubbed wooden table.

Luke was busily counting the cracks in the white plaster above his head when the man - who looked more in place sitting at a dinner with a bunch of sleazy landowners then in some Anchorhead shack - said words which came straight from the deepest pit of the ninth Corellian hell.

"My name is Kitster Banai, I knew your father, and I'm here to tell you that he'd be pretty damned ashamed if he saw you right now."

Kitster, the man with the fabulously slicked hair, single-handedly completely shattered five years worth of a thiefly lifestyle (that Luke was very happy with, thank you very much) quite nicely.

And Luke Skywalker, Strange-O-Meter and rancor pits be damned, sprayed Jawa Juice right into Kitster Banai's face.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Star Wars material.


	2. Even More of an Annoying Interruption

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_Chapter Two_

_Even More of an Annoying Interruption_

Crown Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan paced nervously through the salon of the _Tantive IV, _keeping a wary eye on the stars streaking past the port view like she could possibly see where Coruscant would loom into view and trying to convince herself it was very unladylike to aim a kick at the couch.

Only a few more hours, Captain Antilles had assured her. Never mind that her hands were shaking, she was drenched in cold sweat, her tongue felt like wool, her stomach was tumbling over itself, and - oh, goodness, couldn't the ship just _hurry up?_

Sitting down on the couch with a huff and feeling more frustrated then nervous, Leia immediately hopped back up and began pacing again with an added edge of ready-to-tear-out-her-immaculately-styled-hair nerves.

_Forget pacing, _Leia suddenly decided and then promptly gave a hard kick to the foot of the blue-cushioned sofa, which caused her to use words her mother _certainly _didn't know she knew and plop back down on the couch.

…and then stand back up, convulsively patting down her hair as her mother's advice jumped and warbled its way through her mind like pieces of a ricocheting jigsaw.

Finally, Leia took a deep breath, coming to a standstill to face her reflection in the transparisteel.

"You can do this, Leia," she told herself sternly. "After all, there are forty-nine more candidates that feel the same way."

Of course, she did have to _compete _with those other forty-nine for a spot that had been gaping open for the past ten years that no one had managed to fill: the Supreme Chancellor's apprentice.

Leia took in a deep, shuddering breath and steadied herself.

The Supreme Chancellor's apprentice was one of the most elite positions in the galaxy. Out of a slew of applicants, only fifty adolescents were selected under the most specific conditions: no members of their family could be part of Galactic Congressional bureaucracy, they had to have received very elite and specific education in politics and other relating subjects and practice in politics. Any candidates had to scrabble and claw their way into the position on their own merit and wits. Candidates that had been selected then attended - alone - a three day competition on Coruscant where they would participate in three different events in front of the entire Galactic Congress, including the Supreme Chancellor and very possibly the Emperor himself (not that Leia was looking forward to seeing _that _despicable being). The events were a debate on a topic chosen by the Chancellor, a mock-proposal addressed to the Senate following all the rules and regulations of the Senate itself, and an open-ended question session from any and all Senators. After the three days of competition, the Supreme Chancellor then announced her choice to the Senate.

If you somehow managed to _win _the position of the Supreme Chancellor's apprentice…well, that was completely different story. The position itself was a purely academic one; the apprentice was to learn from the Chancellor and help write speeches, advise, hold audiences with concerned citizens, and even occasionally represent the Chancellor. The being was apprenticed to Chancellor from their selection until the Chancellor's end of term. It was because the apprenticeship was such an esteemed and influential position that candidates could have no family in the Galactic bureaucracy. While the apprentice held no _official_ power, anyone who became an apprentice was sure to later become a huge political figure - it wasn't the immediate position that was important, it was the implications of the future. The Chancellor made very important decisions and the apprentice was supposed to be the one who the people approached with their concerns and pass on to the Chancellor.

Bail Organa, Leia's father, had _not _been supportive of Leia's aspirations to join any sort of political pursuits. He had been positively petrified when, having stepped down as Senator, Leia informed him of her candidacy. It wasn't a long jump to figure out why: should the Emperor somehow get his hands on Leia or evidence of Alderaan's anti-Imperial leanings, Leia could kiss her fourteen years goodbye. Leia wasn't too concerned about the Emperor, honestly. She wasn't stupid enough to go shooting her mouth off at the first injustice she saw. No, the true wild card was the Supreme Chancellor herself.

While most Chancellors were only allowed in office four years, the current Chancellor had been elected thirteen years ago with an overwhelming ballot of one thousand and eighty-four to sixteen and showed no sign of leaving anytime soon. After her first year in office, the Supreme Chancellor had selected Pooja Naberrie of Naboo as an apprentice, who promptly denounced the apprenticeship after two years for what looked like no reason at all and no urging on the Chancellor's part. For the past ten years, the Chancellor had fielded any demands for her to select a new apprentice but seemed to have finally given in.

There was really no doubt this Chancellor was an odd one. While the Chancellor had made great strides toward humanitarian efforts such as the end of slave trade and equality, she remained oddly silent on the subject of the Emperor. In fact, there had never been a holo seen with the two of them standing side by side. This greatly relieved Leia; while she hated the Emperor, the Supreme Chancellor was her idol and any association between the two made Leia feel sick.

But she could do this. She could do it for herself, for her family, for her people, and for the foundations of the Alliance to Restore the Republic.

So when Captain Antilles announced that they were leaving hyperspace and the light-studded globe of Coruscant formed in the salon window, Leia drew herself up like the princess she was.

She could this.

(And even if she couldn't, it would still be wonderful to meet Supreme Chancellor Amidala face-to-face.)

* * *

Wilhuff Tarkin, Padmé decided, was probably the most annoying person in the galaxy.

"…see, Your Excellency, this would greatly benefit the Republic…"

Slimy, two-faced, Emperor-abiding, slug-like…nearly bald. Rather like the Emperor himself, actually.

"Raising the taxes by only two percent would fund the entire project…"

And it was just her luck that he was sitting across from her desk.

Longwinded as well.

"…the Emperor is delighted by the idea and asked me personally to confer with you…"

Yes, _very _longwinded.

"…it would ensure cooperation between all Senators and promote galactic harmony…"

Wait…Emperor, did he say? Oh, he was talking about something important. In fact, he _was _someone important and whatever important thing he was actually asking her for had been wrapped up in this three hour audience of pure drivel. He was probably trying to drive her insane in an attempt to get her to fund this asinine project.

"Tell me, Governor," Padmé interrupted and the man instantly quieted. "Why you are asking for funding of a…" she consulted the first page of the two-thousand page report he had given her, "…_'self-functioning orbital station serving as the base of the Galactic Republic's operations' _from myself and not the Senate?"

Tarkin gave her a thin, bland smile, not looking at all off-put. "My Emperor, who fully endorses this project, wished me to come directly to you with this project, Your Excellency."

"This project," Padmé repeated, leaning back in her chair.

"Yes, Your Excellency."

Had Padmé still been a senator, she could have happily told him, "No, no, and _absolutely_ not," and then gone on with her day. But she was Supreme Chancellor and Tarkin was one of the Emperor's favored, so she had to play nice.

"This project…that will serve primarily as _'the base of the Galactic Republic's operations' _and secondarily as _'a fully-functional retreat for any who wish to come and have the resources to do so'_?" Padmé favored him with a cold stare.

"As per His Highness's recommendation," Tarkin said politely, giving her another bland smile. "I am sure that the Emperor would open to any suggestions you have, Your Excellency."

Padmé did not return his smile. "Then I thank you for kindly informing me in advance of a project that will, I am sure, come up first in the next Senate session."

"Ah…of course, Your Excellency. But the Emperor…"

"The Emperor?" Padmé invited.

Tarkin's eyes flashed with minute irritation. "The Emperor wished me to receive your assurance of funding. Your Excellency."

Padmé remained unimpressed. The more Tarkin brought up the Emperor, the more he was showing his cards. He wanted her to show her true feelings by undermining the Emperor in some fashion.

Padmé was in office with far more support of the populace then the Emperor. That was all the actions that had to speak for her true feelings.

"All funding is given with the consent of the Senate," Padmé didn't bother to soften her stare, but attempted to lace her words with some pity for show. "I am afraid that you will have to wait until the next Senate session."

Padmé was tempted to add that the day she gave any of Palpatine's little toadies consent for building a space station purely as a resort for the wealthy and elite was the day someone needed to go check the temperature down in the ninth Corellian hell, but said nothing.

Padmé had not said anything in a very long while.

Tarkin forced a pained smile onto his face and once again opened his gaping maw, but before he could say anything a chime sounded.

"Come in," Padmé called, never before having been so relieved to see Sabé open a door.

"My lady," she curtsied. "The candidates have all arrived. The Senate session is about to start."

Padmé stood and it took all of her concentration not to collapse on her legs, which had unceremoniously fallen asleep an hour into Tarkin's monologue.

"Inform the Senate I will arrive shortly," she told Sabé, who curtsied and left as Padmé turned to Tarkin. Padmé half-wished she had ordered Sabé to escort Tarkin to the Chancellor's podium so she could pitch him off the side.

"I apologize, Your Excellency," Tarkin stood and bowed, "I did not mean for the meeting to run this long."

"No matter," Padmé dismissed, smoothing her gown. She added, with a touch of dread, "Shall I escort you to your repulsorpod?"

"You are very kind, Your Excellency, but I will take my leave," Tarkin dipped his head. "It has been an honor. I look forward to seeing you at the Candidacy Competitions."

When the door slammed shut behind him, Padmé rubbed her temples, slightly smudging her heavy makeup. The competitions. After ten years, Padmé had no longer been able to silence the protests for her to choose an apprentice. In the first few years in office her niece had been such a comfort, but Pooja had other things to do and Padmé did not want to see the backlash against the Naberries if anyone discovered just what Padmé Amidala's birth name was.

But now…the idea of having someone so young so close and constantly around her, advising and pressuring her, it was far too close to parenthood for her liking.

A strangled noise attempted to escape from her throat, but Padmé fought it down. It had been nearly thirteen years. She could do this. Still, her hand drifted towards her wrist where a little girl's hair ribbon was tied under her sleeve.

Yes, she could do this.

"My lady," Sabé had opened the doors, "it is nearly time. We must hurry."

* * *

Twenty-seven candidates in and it was exactly what Padmé had expected.

Eirtaé had quickly rattled off the statistics before the podium started ascending: forty-three Inner-Rim and seven Mid-Rim candidates. Out of the fifty, eight were from merchant guilds, twelve with military connections, and another eleven with connections to the Emperor's favored. This meant that Padmé had only nineteen candidates that were actually worth looking at.

Seated on the podium throne some ninety feet in the air, Padmé smoothed her newly-changed gown and looked studiously blank as the Vice Chair Silya Shessaun, standing at Padmé's side, read off the names and planets of the candidates as a projection of the candidate - taller then even the podium - flashed in the air. Eirtaé sat on her other side while two of Padmé's other handmaidens sat on the lower level of the podium with the Senate scribe, journal clerk, parliamentarian and Sergeant at Arms.

Padmé studied the datapad built into the wall of the podium directly in front of her as Silya read off, voice echoing through every inch of the Grand Convocation Chamber, "Raana Nalashti of Shili."

The holo of a young Togruta dressed in traditional garb appeared as Padmé examined the profile on her datapad. Interestingly, Raana Nalashti was actually there to be an apprentice and not to spy. Padmé was so absorbed in Nalashti's credentials that she almost missed the next candidate.

"Crown Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan," Silya announced.

Padmé blinked and murmured to Eirtaé, "I was under the assumption that Senator Organa was still in office - "

Padmé's words died on her tongue as the holo of Princess Leia formed.

Leia was…Leia was _beautiful._

The princess looked every inch the part of the Alderaanian noblewoman. She was dressed in the traditional, draping Alderaanian style with a velvety outer layer that ended in a triangular point to show soft silks underneath that pooled around her feet. Instead of sleeves, the princess's arms were wound in slivers of silk that, winding around her wrists, draped meters past her folded hands. She wore a _polos_ crown draped with the same silks that curtained either side of her face and fell all the way to the floor. A gauzy veil was pushed over her hair that, Padmé could see, had two braids that coiled around the thick waves of her hair carefully piled into a simply gravity-defying bun.

Around her, too, Padmé could vaguely hear senators muttered and shifting like a hive of wasps as she herself attempted to continue her neutral look. It wasn't just because Leia was beautiful.

It was because Leia looked like _Padmé. _

Even in the blue holo could Padmé see the same dark eyes and high, aristocratic lines and planes of Leia's face. Leia's hair echoed Padmé's curls in thick waves and a deep, rich color with pale skin that did not look at _all_ like the Alderaanian skin of Leia's parents.

_Leia…_Padmé blindly clutched her wrist.

"My lady," Eirtaé whispered urgently. "My lady, the princess - "

Whatever Eirtaé was about to say was cut off by Silya's echoing, _"Prince Altern Pellis of Corellia."_

Padmé could barely pay attention to the other thirty-two candidates. All she could think about was how she had to meet Princess Leia.

"Eirtaé," Padmé murmured. "Alert Sabé for the candidates' dinner."

"My lady?"

"I believe a couple of old tricks would not go amiss tonight," Padmé said vaguely, intently studying the profile of the princess in the green gown on the datapad in front of her.

* * *

Luke was currently staring at a pile of flimsies from the depths of the ninth Corellian hell.

In fact, he was starting to wonder if everything here was just a demon from the ninth Corellian hell having taken the respective forms of a man, a pile of flimsies, and his sprayed Jawa Juice.

Or maybe he was actually _in _the ninth Corellian hell.

Luke blinked.

Once.

Twice.

Three times.

That pile of flimsies was _still _an application for the Galactic Naval Academy bearing his name, having been forged and filed to perfection. It was meticulously done with signatures of people who Luke was _very _sure were dead. And how Kitster could possibly know who his guardians had been…

(Where had Kitster gotten Luke's signature, for that matter? He hadn't picked up a stylus since he was eight years old, besides his little stint as a waiter in that Coruscanti diner…)

"So," Luke said calmly, dropping the flimsies back on the table. "I'm going to assume you're either very, very insane or just plain insane."

"I'm as insane as you are happily deluded," Kitster remarked, "a lot like your father, actually."

Luke's eye did not twitch. Nope, not at _all. _Luke was very twitch-free. Completely twitch-free, in fact.

"I don't suppose you _know _who your father is, do you?"

It wasn't like Kitster was getting under his skin or anything.

"What makes you think I _care_?" Luke wondered aloud, kicking his feet back up on the table.

The man arched an eyebrow, leaning towards him. "Too cool for school, I see. No, I can tell you care."

"What haveyou been _smoking_?" Luke asked in awe, taking a sip of his remaining Jawa Juice (cleverly disguised in a tankard usually used for Regellian ales, if he did say so himself).

"Want to know why?"

"Why you're smoking? Not particularly."

"Because you're still here."

"No, really, please don't tell - _what?" _Luke spluttered, coming perilously close to spitting out his remaining Jawa Juice.

"Here," Kitster repeated, gazing around the grubby cantina - the rusty cleaning droid, the green something growing on the walls that hissed when you touched it, and the bartender who'd helped himself to a bit too much of his own stock passed out on his own bar. "Tatooine. Lovely, isn't it? Dual suns, imports water and exports slaves…after all, it's not like every being who lives on this hellhole dreams of getting off of it. If you were rich, I'd say it's 'cause you're either a Hutt or like easy service. But you're neither. And yet, _you're still here._"

Luke opened his mouth to say something, but his tongue felt oddly woolly.

Luke closed his mouth.

And then opened it.

…and closed it again.

"If I didn't know better," Kitster carried on. "I'd say it's down right sentimental_. That's_ got to be the strangest thing I've ever heard. Almost like a slave boy becoming a general in the Clone Wars."

Luke attempted to connect enough brain cells to unhinge his jaw and form a response as Kitster leveled him with an unerringly intense stare.

"Strange indeed," Kitster just said and leaned back. "For one of the galaxy's best thieves to end up here - no matter how long you're off-planet stealin' the shiniest thing on the planet, you always end up here. Always. I've watched you, Skywalker. No matter what, you always come back - even though you could've made billions of credits sellin' the things you've stole! And yet…you could do so much better. And you know it."

That strangled, choking noise? It didn't come from Luke. Not at all.

Kitster scratched his chin. "I've watched you, Skywalker, and I always did wonder. Maybe you're sentimental, or maybe you're lonely. I dunno."

_Or maybe you return because it's the only home you've ever known, seven years of lost memories and all, _whispered a voice in the back of Luke's mind that he really, _really _wanted to shut up.

"Maybe you really just _do _like the sights and are that cruel of a bastard. Maybe…I dunno. But you've never taken an employer up on an offer - "

_Only place you could ever find those memories again…_

…and the voice was starting to sound like a man he'd met just five minutes ago. Terrific.

" - seen you only steal from easy pickings; never take money, only food - "

Even more of a reason for it to shut up.

" - which is real strange for a guy who stole Durga the Hutt's coinpurse during the middle of a firefight. Don't you think?"

_Adventures, adventures…what happens if you can't remember _anything _anymore? What happens when you can't even remember your craziest times?_

"I think you _really _need to stop smoking things you find in the bottom of a trash compactor," Luke said promptly.

_What then?_

Kitster snorted. "Do us all a favor and shut up, kid. You couldn't be a better thief and you've made sure everybody knows it." The man shook his head. "But kreth, kid, you _know _you could be a better man. And your father would be ashamed of you."

Suddenly, with the glow of the stars throwing dark shadows down from the vaulted ceiling, Luke felt very, very small.

"Sometimes I thought you really were that much of a careless bastard," Kitster leaned back, "but then I realized that, for a thief, you're one hells of a bad actor."

Again: that strangled half-laugh? _Totally _did not come from Luke.

"You're telling me my father was a general in the Clone Wars," Luke said incredulously, shaking his head. "Please, for the love of all that is holy, do _not _sell whatever you've been smoking."

"You can bet your thievin' hands he was, boy," Kitster said seriously, pushing the stack of application flimsies toward him and standing up. "You could be great, you know. In three years you could graduate with distinction. You could be a pilot, or an engineer, or even a medic. You could have the time of your life - you could have friends, you could put those talents of yours to good use. You would be able to be someone I'm sure your father dreamed you would be."

"I'm not fifteen."

His brain cells, Luke reflected, were having a really hard time working his mouth properly.

"You will be. In…what? Three weeks?" Kitster raised an eyebrow.

"And six days," Luke said, propping up his head with his arm, "I would think my trash-smoking stalker could get _that _right."

"Never tire of being a smartass, do you?" Kitster rolled his eyes as he started to walk towards the door. He paused and turned to face Luke. "By the way - there's a shuttle leaving from Bestine to Coruscant at eight sharp. Thought you might want to know…term starts in four weeks, after all."

Luke gave him a mock salute and a grin. "I'll see you in my nightmares, then!"

Kitster shook his head and walked out the door, which slid closed behind him with a pitiful whine.

And Luke Skywalker, for the first time in five long years, felt very alone.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Star Wars material.


	3. Something Like A Surrender

_Chapter Three_

_Something Like A Surrender_

Nameless.

It seemed an odd concept, really; she who had been so proud to be who she was. Now she was nameless - or, at least, she felt nameless.

In the back of her mind - forefront, side, whenever she thought of it, which was _always_ - the mere concept disgusted her. She prided herself (pride…she had had a lot of that, hadn't she?) on her strength and fortuity. Fifteen years ago, she would have been disgusted with herself at the mere thought of being this…weak. It seemed almost impossible that she, of all people, would be reduced to this.

She still _was _disgusted.

Now, however…it seemed much more possible: the world was bleak and blurry; she saw nothing and cared even less.

Hm…that was a little too melodramatic, even for her. Or whoever she was at this point. No, the world _did _still filter in through her senses, no matter what she wanted to think…or believe, for that matter.

"…Bib Fortuna has contracted the bounty hunter, my lord, but Bidlo Kwerve has supposedly made correspondence with the contact…"

She liked listening to the reports, strangely enough. Perhaps it was some long-forgotten instinct to always know what enemies were saying or even just sheer want for a connection with the old world - her old world - but Jabba didn't mind. She was, after all, his honored guest for however long she wished.

Seeing as she did not ask for anything nor even talk most days, considering her new, nameless state, Jabba seemed to even welcome her presence.

"…there are rumors that Phantom has left for Coruscant…"

Perhaps it was even some edge of her senses - ones that were dull and stagnant with no use - that told her to wait and listen, for something important was coming.

"…there are also rumors that Kitster Banai, a majordomo for a Mos Espa estate, identified Phantom as…"

She didn't trust her senses, usually, but now she did not care if she blindly followed them.

She did not care for much at all.

"These are only rumors, my - my l - lord, but Banai seems to have identified Phantom as Luke Skywalker…the son of the Jedi Knight…"

Something important, indeed.

And something almost like a smile cracked across Ahsoka Tano's face.

* * *

The _Skysitter _lived up to its name, Leia decided.

The restaurant sat atop one of the tallest skyscrapers on Coruscant and the ceilings of the dining rooms, to exacerbate the fact, were made of transparisteel to give a beautiful view of the night sky. Well, overhead traffic, really, but little to no traffic above you on Coruscant indicated how important you were. The air was surprisingly fresh and clean for the city planet and the transparent domes over the lightpost-studded gardens that ringed the restaurant made the air almost as sweet and fragrant as the grounds of the Aldera Royal Palace.

Leia leaned against the trunk of a tree with pretty silver leaves, looking out over the varied flora of the gardens. When she had been a young girl, she and her aunt Tia used to play a game where every time Leia could correctly identify a plant she had gotten a sweet. Of course, Tia was the most paranoid woman in the entire galaxy and was determined that Leia be able to identify any plant in case of a poisoning, but Leia had enjoyed the time - and the sweets - nonetheless.

It was nice to see something familiar on this strange planet, even if was just the plants in a restaurant garden, especially after the near-disaster the opening ceremony had been.

Senator Engle Arris of Alderaan was an affable man that had been hand-picked by the Alderaanian royal family after Bail stepped down as senator. Leia had enjoyed making small talk with him and his aide until they had arrived in Alderaan's repulsorpod, wherein Leia's nerves had gotten the best of her and her tongue. The Supreme Chancellor had first made the most ostentatious speech while wearing one of the most ostentatious dresses Leia's eyes ever had the misfortune to land upon. The speech, while being very beautifully delivered, had been about the purity of the position and the academic glory of the apprenticeship; several candidates looked quite obviously shifty and Leia's respect for the Chancellor had risen up a few more notches.

Then came the introductions, where Senator Arris had quietly filled Leia in on the gossip of each candidate until Leia's turn, where the entire procedure had taken a bewildering turn after her image was projected up. Senator Arris had remained stark white and tight-lipped the rest of the ceremony, but Leia had caught snatches of intrigued comments aimed her way from the pods near them.

Before the last candidate had even been introduced, Senator Arris had helped her rearrange her veil over her face and then quickly usher her out the door and to his personal speeder, leaving his aide in the dust, where he took her directly to the _Skysitter_ for the candidates' dinner, not even bothering to fill her in on what the rush was about. Senator Arris had, with a pained sort of grimace, explained that she looked rather like the Supreme Chancellor and that people might start crafting rumors that she was related to the Supreme Chancellor. After this explanation, he had promptly kicked her out of the speeder without so much as a by-your-leave, leaving Leia to hastily put her trailing fabrics back in place after the speeder's windy departure.

Now, however, Leia was seeking the comfort of something familiar. In plants.

Just where exactly had her life gone?

Leia was so absorbed in grumbling about just how many treats Aunt Tia should give her for naming all the flowers in the garden that she nearly jumped straight off the skyscraper and to a very messy death in the traffic lanes below when a hand was put on her shoulder.

Leia spun around, making her dress fly everywhere, to face a small woman - even shorter then Leia! - that Leia could not remember from the list of candidates.

"Your Highness," the woman curtsied and dipped her head, "I beg your pardon for frightening you."

Leia almost scowled before she caught herself - she hadn't been _scared. _

"It's alright," Leia said, once _again _rearranging her various drapes as she looked at the woman. In the dark; all she could really see was a lilac dress that looked eerily similar in color to the one the Chancellor had been wearing. "I didn't see you there. You are…?"

"Padmé, Your Highness," the woman said with an odd inflection-and-or-accent that Leia vaguely recognized, "a handmaiden of the Supreme Chancellor."

As the woman stepped into the glow of a near lightpost, Leia decided that "maiden" was probably a bad term for the beautiful woman who looked about the same age as her mother. A dark purple gauze was covering her hair in a very modest fashion and she wore no makeup, but Leia still thought "matron" might be more appropriate. The woman's dark skin looked oddly olive in the light and her eyes looked almost black and sunken, like she was recovering from a bad flu. Her skin was smooth over her cheeks and there were dark bags under her eyes, giving her an oddly stretched look. While the woman rang with a sort of timeless beauty, she looked very tired.

To put it mildly. "Walking dead" might be a better term, though.

"Oh." Well, that explained the dress. Now how did Leia respond? 'Oh, you looked far too pretty to be a peasant'? Not that Leia could really say that, seeing as she hadn't been around many so-called peasants in her life. In fact, she hadn't been around many people who weren't her family or her competition before. Should she start a conversation? That seemed a good idea. "Padmé - like the Chancellor?"

"An odd coincidence, Your Highness, I can assure you," Padmé answered with a slight chuckle.

"Yes…I'm Leia," Leia said, awkwardly sticking out her hand for the woman to shake.

Padmé looked vaguely amused and shook her hand with far more grace then Leia herself had ever managed, even with a lifetime of etiquette classes under her belt.

"A pleasure to meet you, Your Highness," Padmé responded, casting her gaze over the busy Coruscanti skyline. "Are you enjoying the view?"

"Hm?" Leia said, having been absentmindedly wondering if those zombie stories Aunt Rouge read her had any merit. "Oh…yes."

Goodness. How was she ever going to be an apprentice if she couldn't even hold a conversation with a handmaiden? Pointed political debates and pointless small talk were so much easier.

"Have you been to Coruscant before?" Padmé asked, her eyes crinkling in such a tender fashion Leia felt very guilty about the zombie comments as Padmé's entire countenance lit up, making her look ten years younger.

"I've come a couple of times with my father," answered Leia, thanking the stars she was finally able to string together a coherent sentence. "Have you been here before? Um…I mean…"

Never mind. Her neurons _still _weren't firing correctly.

"Before my mistress became the Supreme Chancellor?" Padmé saved Leia's embarrassment. "Only once. I was much more concerned with my home."

"Ah…um. Right, where are you from?" Leia attempted to physically force her blush down.

"Naboo," Padmé said with a positively unreadable expression. "I need not ask where your from, Princess."

Leia was tempted to tell Padmé that no, she was _not _of Alderaanian lineage considering she was adopted, but decided that information was probably best left untouched - even if she was feeling the irrational need to impress a handmaiden who was much more well-spoken then her.

"Alderaan is a lot different from here," Leia said, because apparently she just _excelled _in saying the most vapid things she could think of today. She hurried on to say, "The Senate building - everywhere, really - is a lot different without my father here…not that I've been many places in Coruscant."

_It's a whole lot bigger, _Leia added silently. _And a whole lot scarier. _

Padmé gave her a sad sort of smile before changing the subject, "Would you like a tour of Coruscant's skyline, Your Highness?"

"I would like that," Leia smiled, relieved. "I think it beats cocktails."

Padmé chuckled with no real humor before she wheeled Leia slowly around the garden, pointing out sights like the surprisingly quiet Jedi Temple, _500 Republica_ where Leia was staying with Senator Arris, and some cheap but very good diners that the Chancellor apparently loved.

"May I ask, Your Highness, why you decided to apply?" Padmé said suddenly, interrupting her own commentary on the _Starlight View _which sold the most deliciously fatty ice creams.

Leia, for her part, recovered from the abrupt change as a politician should do.

"I believe that every being deserves the right to be heard, no matter how small the issue is," she said promptly, not looking up from where a crop of black lilies had caught her eye.

"The apprenticeship is a purely academic position," Padmé said, and Leia, looking up, caught a funny look painting her face.

"It is," Leia agreed, "but people perceive it differently. Regardless of academics, the power of voice lies with the apprentice. Others too, of course, but the apprentice is such that it is not just one voice in a million - it's a voice people are willing to listen to. Even if I don't agree with what sides people take on what problems, people have a right to share their troubles and have someone listen."

"Not every problem would be fixed," Padmé pointed out.

"I know," Leia sighed. "That would be a perfect world. But having someone to listen to a million problems and fixing even just one is good enough for me."

A genuine smile broke across Padmé's face as the bell rung to signal dinner.

"I agree."

* * *

The Jedi Temple, like all other places where kids spent a majority of their time, developed some unwritten tidbits of information or know-hows.

One such piece of information was the Room of Doom and Gloom.

The Room of Doom and Gloom was a sort of horror story that padawans told initiates but was also a real thing, even if it tended to be embellished. The actual thing was, however, a room.

The Room of Doom and Gloom was a corner chamber down in a section of the Jedi Temple that no one had a real use for. It was far out of the way of something important, like the dojo, the mess hall, the quarters, classrooms, the archives, or even the supply stores. The Room and the surrounding corridors were, however, a nice place for a meditation, so it was left as it was.

It was very relaxing until the discovery of the Room of Doom and Gloom.

None of the padawans could actually tell _who _discovered it or when, but all everyone knew - and this included the Jedi Knights and Masters, but they purposefully ignored the stories of the Room - was that this corner chamber, outfitted with the highest security locks and other mechanisms no one understood, emitted an awful aura.

So awful, in fact, that no one could even come within a ten foot radius of the place. The Room got its name from the aura that it emitted: hanging low and pervasive like a storm, the tangible disgust and _rage _that roiled through it on occasion was enough make even the wisest masters quake in their boots. Most of the time, though, it was only a constant ripple of guilty agony and a fierce, nearly pitifully pathetic longing.

"Only" being a relative term, that is.

A few of the more daring padawans and initiates made a game of it, seeing whoever could get the closest to the door of the Room of Doom and Gloom without nearly passing out. A young initiate had managed to get eight feet from the door, which earned him instant respect from his peers.

So had any of those padawans seen Master Obi-Wan Kenobi stride all ten feet up to the door of the Room without missing a single beat and then _enter _the Room, Obi-Wan would've become the most favorite master within two heartbeats.

But the padawan who _was _watching from around the corner felt much less respect and instead watched curiously.

* * *

When Kitster Banai woke with a sleepy yawn, kissed his still-slumbering wife on the cheek, and then stumbled down the stairs to face the dark morning ahead while remembering the last night - well, early morning - with a bone-deep weariness, he rather should've expected to see what he saw.

"So, you do realize," Luke Skywalker said conversationally, feet propped up on the Alderaanian maple dining room table and helping himself to a carton of what looked suspiciously like Jawa Juice, "that if I go to the Galactic Naval Academy, I'm not going with the last name 'Skywalker', right?"

Damn the dual suns. To Kitster, the day suddenly got a whole lot brighter.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Star Wars material, no copyright infringement intended.


	4. Actually Attempting To Almost Try

_Chapter Four_

_Actually Attempting To Almost Try_

Spending eleven hours on a shuttle that sat twelve with only a family of three with a baby that was screaming like the hounds of hell were after it, a man that was carrying something that occasionally let out puffs of fire, and a pilot who could find potholes in hyperspace was enough make any man start think about the pros and cons of murder.

For Luke, however, spending eleven hours in what could definitely qualify as the tenth level of the nine Corellian hells was enough time for his mind to reflect, unheeded, on things that he didn't want it to.

Murder? Eh. Suicide was looking a lot better, though.

Choosing to once again rifle through his application and try to drown out the wailing, Luke stared at the name atop the application with an odd twist in his gut.

Once Luke had finished off all of the Banais' Jawa Juice and Kitster's wife, Tamora, had stopped screaming at him to take the good silverware and leave, Kitster had reforged Luke's name at Luke's own insistence. Luke had then consented - with minimal grumbling - to let Kitster pay the fare from Bestine to Coruscant (ignoring Luke's complaints about just stowing away on it) as well as giving him nearly a thousand credits in spending money, take the clean clothes that Tamora gave him, and leave both his vest, his gloves, and his blaster in his rucksack as well as his hood off until he found a place to settle into before term.

The last request made Luke give Kitster another funny look ("I know you're smoking strong stuff, but does it really offend your delusions so much if I wear a vest and pull up my hood?") but Luke had consented.

And _no, _Luke did _not _feel indebted to the person who had both signed on as his secondary guardian and was paying for his tuition and any other amenities.

(Maybe just a little.

Or a lot.

…or maybe even sort of hugely in a I-owe-you-so-much-I'll-probably-die-before-I-can-repay-you sort of kind of a little bit sort of way.)

Not at all.

Luke tugged at the worn brown leather string around his neck for the fifth time in as many hours. Being in space was the worst and the best of everything: Luke admired the breathtaking stars streaking past the windows (well, he usually favored stowing away in cargo holds and smuggling compartments, but it was the same idea) and the sudden rush of freedom.

But no matter where he was going or what kind of ship he was in, the only thing Luke could think of were his memories. His missing ones or his worst, at that.

So Luke chose to once again examine the name _Luke Whitesun Lars _printed neatly in the name box.

Luke couldn't tell what in the freaking galaxyhad possessed him to burble out _that_ name when Kitster had asked the name he wanted to go by. Luke, despite being a very good thief (thank you very much), had never once pretended to not be the person he was. For some reason, Luke was much more comfortable using his own name where illegal activities were concerned than where the Galactic Naval Academy was.

Or maybe it was just spite. Either one, really.

But the idea of applying to the Academy under his own name…it did funny things to him - made him wonder if there was somebody out there who remembered those years that Luke didn't, or if there was somebody who would be proud of him for applying.

Or if there wasn't.

Luke tugged on the worn string once more.

_"Luke, you can be whatever you want to be," _Aunt Beru's voice whispered in his mind, and Luke was hit with a gut-wrenching clarity of her soft hands smoothing his hair. _"But whatever you do, wherever you are, I know you'll make me proud." _

Luke knew there was someone who _had _cared.

_"You'll be great, son," _Uncle Owen's gruff voice joined Aunt Beru's in the torture-Luke-today festival. _"No doubt about that."_

And the idea of taking _their _name, as opposed to his own, well…there _were_ two people in the galaxy that Luke didn't actively want to disappoint.

(And one other, not that he would admit that.)

It seemed a lot more important and kind of daunting to attach his name to _that_ one and filled Luke with the vaguely horrifying expectation to make them proud. (Only sorta, of course. He was _Luke Skywalker_, after all.) And…he didn't just have to make them proud.

He also _wanted_ to.

Waiting until everyone aboard wasn't looking his way, Luke fished out the pendant attached to the worn brown leather string. The pedant was an oddly shaped japor snippet, carved with symmetrical markings that Uncle Owen had once told him meant good luck. The pendant had been the only possession Luke had had with him when he woke on the moisture farm, fever purged from his body and memories from his mind.

Luke could remember racing over sand dunes and making up wild stories about how the snippet had been given to his father by a prince that he had saved in a vicious battle or as a gift to his mother by a kind Diathim.

Luke quickly hid it back under his tunics.

Somehow, making his aunt and uncle proud was not quite as bad as being stuck with a wailing baby and a fire-breathing crossbred for the next six hours.

That was kind of a nice concept, actually.

So it made sense that by the time the shuttle docked in Coruscant and Luke took his first breath of polluted Coruscanti air the first words he heard were, "You there! Halt!"

Figured that the one time he was doing something legal he'd be arrested.

* * *

Leia woke up before dawn.

The good thing about the polluted Coruscant skies was that when someone awoke at an irritatingly early hour and simply couldn't go back to sleep, that person couldn't actually tell how early it was without looking at a chrono because the skies were the same muddled, dull gray they always were.

So as Leia stood on the balcony of the guest room of Senator Arris's _500 Republica_ apartment, she felt very content in imagining that she had happily slept past noon in her sunny, Alderaanian bedroom and woke up to a cloudy day.

It was rather soothing, actually, for Leia to calmly dress herself in a green gown much simpler than yesterday's that she and her aunts had picked out months before hand, pile her hair into a sturdy bun, arrange her crown, put on a pair of very comfortable slippers that didn't particularly match her gown, and then apply more makeup than even the Chancellor wore to hide the bags under her eyes without feeling the clock tick down.

It made her feel oddly empty to get ready for an event without her aunts there fuss and cluck over their "little tomboy princess" or berate her for sleeping with her hair in pins. Leia couldn't even bear to think of her parents, lest she burst into tears and ruin her makeup.

Leia had underestimated how lonely you could feel with the only familiar company being your wardrobe.

So Leia had sat on the balcony, nervously twisting her hands until eight hit, where she stood nervously twisting her hands in front of Senator Arris's front door. (Who she gave a pointed good morning and then ignored.) She had then continued the pattern both in the speeder, the walk through the Senate Rotunda, and all the way to the Alderaanian repulsorpod, where she had finally managed to take a deep breath and cast a professionally neutral expression over her face.

Of course, her knees _did _nearly given out when the repulsorpod finally started to gravitate outwards with forty-nine other pods to form a ring around the podium, but Leia considered it an overall success.

The repulsorpods hovered back and forth, making several candidates look rather green - Leia could put names and commendations to all of the candidates, which was a good sign. Her brain was working and no one had pulled any tricks by switching out candidates with other contestants…yet.

The Alderaanian repulsorpod shifted back in forth right in front of the Chancellor's podium, who was dressed in a deep vermillion gown with surprisingly few embellishments and lacking a customary headdress. The Chancellor's makeup wasn't the heavy white plastery stuff that Leia had seen her wear in holos as queen of Naboo, but still wore the red stripe on her lip as a "scar of remembrance" and the day-to-day makeup most women wore. The entire ensemble made very difficult to, one, not look at the Chancellor's clothes and, two, read any expression on her face. But Leia could've sworn that the Chancellor looked directly at her as she stood.

The minute the Vice Chair called the Senate to order, all thoughts of the Chancellor's makeup flew out of Leia's mind.

It was time for the debates.

The debates were the first and deadliest of the Candidates' Competitions. The Supreme Chancellor chose the topic on the day of the competition, which could be anything from the newest diplomatic policy to the affects of production of Sienar hyperdrives on the environment of Raxus Prime. No one had any knowledge of their topic or their chosen competitor, which meant that the sheer pressure of the _idea_ of the debates was overwhelming. Actually participating in the debates involved both a large understanding of current events and the ability to spew very nice-sounding words that made you sound like you knew what you were talking about.

Leia happened to be very competent in both, if she did say so herself.

"Welcome," the Chancellor pronounced, and Leia suddenly understood where she had heard Padmé's odd inflection-and-or-accent before - the Chancellor. Then Leia doubted whether or not her brain cells _were _firing. Of _course_ they would both have a similar accent, they were both from Naboo. "Welcome, beings of the galaxy to the first event of the Candidates' Competitions…the debates. These debates will have no winner, because the true winner of the debate is the being who will showcase their ability to think under pressure while acting with diplomacy. As you, my fellow beings of the Senate, know debating is a crucial part of being both a diplomatic and a being. Sadly enough, we beings of the galaxy have had to debate for our needs, never mind our wants, but this is a happy occasion."

The Chancellor's mouth did an odd, painful looking little twist that Leia thought could've been classed as a smile in another dimension.

"And so," the Chancellor announced, "let the debates…begin!"

Applause thundered through the Rotunda, and for a second Leia feared the building was shaking. The applause slowed to a light drizzle as the parliamentarian's voice boomed through the Rotunda, making Leia's insides jump and knot in a weird dance.

"Candidates," the parliamentarian addressed the crowd of nervous teenagers. "For this debate, one candidate will be paired with another and will proceed to debate a topic chosen by Her Excellency, the Supreme Chancellor, for ten consecutive minutes. The formula of the debate will be thus: each candidate will have three minutes to collect themselves, and then the first candidate - who will be chosen randomly - will have two minutes at maximum to make their point. The second candidate will have two minutes at maximum as well to make their point. This pattern will continue until the last two minutes, which will be completely unbarred debating. The use of any words on the banned words of the Senate list is still banned, there will be no insults on personal or familial orientation, interrupting the speech of the candidate's allotted time is forbidden, nor will debate stray from the topic in discussion. Debate will only be stopped for emergency. Any candidate not abiding by these rules will be immediately disqualified."

Thankfully, the rules were like every other debate Leia had participated in. The parliamentarian gave a slight bow to the Senate and sat down as the Chancellor who then rose, which sent the entire Rotunda muttering; the Vice Chair was always the one who announced Senate procedures. Leia blinked, registering the change with a lot more grace then Senator Arris, whose face went red and then white in a split second.

"May I announce the first debate pair," the Chancellor's voice echoed through the suddenly quiet chamber. Leia's face went blank as she crossed her fingers, the movement hidden by her draping sleeves. _Please don't be first, please don't be -_

"Crown Princess Leia Organa of Alderaan and Raana Nalashti of Shili."

_- first._

Leia went white as the Alderaan and Shili pods gravitated toward the center of the ring until they were hovering right in front of the podium and Leia could see Raana's annoyingly calm face.

Just her _luck. _Not only was she going _first, _she was up against Raana Nalashti, who could probably out-talk the Emperor himself. No doubt she was either going to get a topic she had never heard of before or get one that would inflame her temper.

"Candidate Crown Princess Organa and Candidate Nalashti," the Chancellor addressed them both, and Leia wasn't seeing anything this time. The Chancellor was definitely looking straight at her, and Leia was suddenly hit with the strange mental image of her mother wearing Padmé's purple headdress. "You will be debating the subject of the recently popular food ice creams and the affect the mass produced and distributed sweet is having on the galaxy-wide obesity rate. Candidate Nalashti will make her first point in three minutes."

Leia nearly laughed aloud in relief. She couldn't believe her luck! Out of left field? Most certainly. But not a subject that would get her killed by the Empire or by Raana.

Leia took a few calming breaths as the clock ticked down, formulating a couple of points in her head and hoping that Raana wasn't about to say all of them in the first round. Leia had debated against Raana once before, nearly five years ago. Most of the candidates Leia had debated against at least once in recent years, which meant that if it was against anyone else she would have the advantage of knowing what side of the argument they would go for. Leia would just have to wait and see what happened, then. When a bell sounded through out the chamber, Raana began her debate with a painfully good point.

"My fellow beings of the galaxy," Raana began, standing straight and tall at the helm of Shili's repulsorpod. Her lekku weren't even flicking, a sign she was in true control of her emotions. "Every day on every planet, millions of new products are conceived and even more of those products are produced each year. Not all become instantly popular, and ice cream's success is a true entrepreneurial miracle. But is ice cream itself _really _doing the damage? After all, there are so many other fatty foods that are readily available. It is not the ice cream that is at fault, my fellow beings, but those who _choose_ ice cream."

Leia kept her face studiously blank, head turned toward Raana, but she was inwardly groaning. Yes, Raana was a _very _good debater. Right off the bat Raana had forced Leia into the very definite position of acting like a crusader against ice cream production. Most people would've preferred being the second debater as to use the extra time to gather their thoughts, but Raana was happily crushing all of Leia's expectations.

If Leia didn't think of something fast, she could very well go and drown her sorrows in ice cream.

"Ice cream is considered a dessert and a very fatty food for a reason," Raana continued. Leia was half tempted to bridge the gap between their pods so she could shove Raana out of hers. "It is the people who choose ice cream who are at fault, not the ice cream producers itself. There are nutritional guides on the packaging that inform those who choose to buy ice cream of the nutritional value. While there are no nutritional guides at restaurants where ice cream is served, most restaurant waiters would be more than happy to inform patrons of ice cream's nutritional value."

Leia was struck with a sudden inspiration. What had Padmé said last night? One of the restaurants that Padmé had pointed out served ice cream. Really _good _ice cream. The…_Starlight View_, was it?

And Raana had not yet offered a specific name of an ice cream or restaurant.

A wicked smile threatened to break Leia's diplomatic mask.

So when Raana politely tilted her head toward Leia, Leia collected herself and did as her father had instructed: she dipped her head to the Chancellor - making sure not to make eye contact, that woman was _scary _- and then briefly glanced around the Senate, seeing beings of all sorts were on the edge of their seats.

"Candidate Nalashti," Leia greeted warmly, "I have to agree with you on every point you have spoken. Except for one."

And Leia would be lying if she said she didn't enjoy the shocked stares around the chamber just the _tiniest _bit.

"You speak of the nutritional guides on the packaging of ice cream," Leia continued, "you also make a point to say the nutritional guides, while not available in restaurants, is readily accessed information through waiters. Do I understand you correctly, Candidate Nalashti?"

Raana inclined her head. Out of the corner of her eye, Leia saw the Chancellor staring at her intently.

"My contention with your one point is this," Leia said, "what of the nutritional guides on the packaging? After all, nutritional guides are common and on nearly every day-to-day item. They provide a standard list of ingredients in order of their presence in the product and how said product impacts your daily food intake. What my point stands is this: it is true that it is the choosers of ice cream that are responsible for their own choices. But how well-informed _are _these consumers? These nutritional guides provide no real standard or guide for just how unhealthy ice cream can be. It is neither the producers or consumers or at fault - it is the guides themselves."

Raana's face did not slip out of its expression of carefully maintained neutrality.

"The guides, while informative, provide no frame of reference nor standards for what the overall health, so to speak, of what the product is," Leia went on. "Producers conform to the guidelines set by the Galactic Health Administration, who set the standards for these nutritional guides, and consumers are certainly able to understand what the nutritional guide's information is with enough research done. But how informative are those so-called guides at a cursory glance? While awaiter may be able to tell a customer what the guide says, how will they know what it means?"

Leia finished her piece, slightly flushed and more than a little exhilarated, nodding at Raana to show she was ready for her to go on.

"Candidate Crown Princess Organa, you brought to the table an excellent point," Raana said with a civil smile. "While you hold the nutritional guides accountable in ice cream's contribution to the galaxy-wide obesity rate, you said that consumers are able to access information about the nutritional guide. Am I correct in my interpretation of your words?"

Leia consciously unclenched her fists and nodded.

"Then, as you said in your own words, consumers are responsible for getting the frame of reference to understand the nutritional guides. Regardless of whether or not nutritional guides are hard to understand at a, quote, 'cursory glance', it is the consumer's responsibility to understand this," Raana insisted, "it is readily accessible information and the consumer's fault should they not pursue it."

"Candidate Crown Princess Organa," the parliamentarian inserted. The entire chamber was on the edge of their seats. "Your rebuttal?"

"To counter your point, Candidate Nalashti," Leia took a deep breath. Raana had backed her into another corner, and it was time to turn the tables yet again. "I will concede it."

If someone was winning at your own game, change it.

"However," Leia asserted, "I do bring the point to you: the consumption of ice cream is seriously affecting the galaxy-wide obesity weight. Should not education about ice cream's negative affects be the top priority as to _stopping _this affect? And where else do you get hard facts about ice cream then where the producers print them? The reason that this information is not having affect is because of the _way _it was printed - the nutritional guides. They are not doing their job, and therefore the ones at fault."

"Your rebuttal, Candidate Nalashti," said the parliamentarian.

"You hold the nutritional guides at fault, but not the ones who read them with the accurate information for a framework at their fingertips?" Raana challenged.

"That point has been conceded," intervened the parliamentarian before Leia, eyes narrowed, could respond. "Continue to your next point, Candidate Nalashti."

"My apologies," Raana dipped her head. "Candidate Crown Princess Organa, the ways to educate to stop this affect are at the consumers' fingertips - a point you have conceded, but nonetheless, remains," Raana added. "This blame lies at their feet. After all, what does ease have to do with education? It is possible to understand, if not easy; I concede this point. However, it provides an adequate frame of reference to an average, every-day diet of a being who can consume ice cream. The consumers who eat ice cream are those who can, and will, digest it and should therefore have a rudimentary understanding of the affect of a fatty food."

"Candidate Crown Princess Organa."

"A rudimentary understanding implies that a consumer could not understand the nutritional guide," Leia countered. "I accept your conceding that understanding a nutritional guide is not easy, but should a consumer have such an elementary understanding, as you said, insinuates that not only is the nutritional guide not _easy_, but not _understandable._ Should it be so, that means that not only is the nutritional guide at fault for ice cream's part in the galaxy-wide obesity rate because of its lack of literacy, but also the galaxy-wide obesity epidemic as a whole."

Before Raana could open her mouth, the parliamentarian announced. "There are two minutes left in the debate, candidates. These next two minutes are to be completely unbarred debating."

The entire chamber held its breath.

Raana beat Leia point, getting in, "Candidate Crown Princess, the idea that the nutritional guide is responsible for the overall galaxy-wide obesity epidemic completely disregards the factors of day-to-day life - body itself, exercise, meals cooked, meals out, and the like. Ice cream is not the _only _thing people eat."

A couple of people laughed weakly at that.

"The idea that the factors of day-to-day life _can _be discounted show that the nutritional guide is so dysfunctional that it _can _be withdrawn from daily life as a whole!" Leia cut her off. "Should the nutritional guide be such a tool for education that you could routinely learn from it - enough to hold consumers responsible - means that not only is it completely illegible, but also disregarded because it is so. Take, for example, restaurants," Leia overrode Raana. "During your first point, Candidate Nalashti, you rightly pointed out that information from nutritional guides is available from restaurants. Taking into account your other point about consumer accountability _including _daily life, should it be any surprise that someone would stop to question a waiter about the nutritional value of an ice cream from a guide that the himself could probably not explain? Would a family, happily dining at _Starlight View - _" Raana paled rapidly at that. " - enjoying themselves at the end of a hard day full of day-to-day activities would stop to question a waiter about what they were eating when, taking into account daily life, they are in no mood to? If nutritional guides were easier to understand and to read, my fellows, there would be no need to stop and try and understand - and, most likely, much less of an obesity epidemic."

Right as Leia finished with a triumphant smile, the deep chime sounded throughout the building.

As Alderaan's and Shili's repulsorpods slid back into the circle and the Chancellor stood at the podium, it was all Leia could do to stop from grinning.

Not only had she gotten in the last word in the majority of the unbarred section of the debate, she had mentioned the name of a specific place and come back from a totally gridlocked position to equally match Raana.

No way could the day get any better than this, Leia thought happily.

As Leia sat back down next to Senator Arris, Leia realized it could.

Because - and Leia would swear it to Mother Aldera and back until her dying day - the Supreme Chancellor had given her a small, approving smile.

* * *

The High Council Chamber was dark.

It wasn't so much that Coruscant's sun wasn't managing to get its rays through the transparisteel that replaced the walls. No, the noon was bright as ever, but the shining sunlight gave the occupants of the room even darker shadows.

At the head of the semicircular ring, Jedi Master Mace Windu assessed the chained figure kneeling in the center, head bowed.

"Today, we are to determine your future," Mace announced to the silent room. He noted Obi-Wan, three seats away, desperately trying to make eye contact with the man. It was a futile effort, but Mace - nor any of the other masters - said anything. They knew all too well the feeling of loosing a padawan.

Especially loosing a padawan in a way like…this.

"We will assess the progress you have made in your penalty, the crimes for which you were handed those penalties, and taking into account your state at the times of crimes, trial, and both before crimes and trial." Mace looked back down at the man and, clenching his mechanical hand, he forced down the stirrings of disgust. "Do you have anything to say in your defense?"

Anakin Skywalker, face still downturned, said nothing.

Not that anyone expected him to.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Star Wars material.

Up next:

_Chapter Five_

_Things Just Got A Little Bit Harder…_


	5. Things Just Got A Little Bit Harder…

_Chapter Five_

_Things Just Got A Little Bit Harder…_

"Well…" Luke said, twisting around to glance at other walls of the stark white interrogation room. "This is awkward."

The Coruscant Security Force officer on the other side of the durasteel table just narrowed his eyes.

Luke had to stop himself from rolling his eyes and, instead, dropped his head back to recount the niches on the ceiling tiles.

Luke had been ushered into this interrogation room hours ago, sat down in this hard seat, and then had his handcuffs handcuffed to the floor by a long chain that was just _slightly _too short and kept Luke hunched over so much so that his spine was about to call it quits.

It was roughly an hour ago that this officer had sat down across from him and not asked him a thing. Luke was starting to get slightly irritated at that - not to mention hungry, it was probably noon and Luke hadn't really eaten a meal in two days - but that was probably the emotion the police were going for. So to spite them - and the fact that if he still wanted to go to the Galactic Naval Academy, he actually had to _obey _the law - he sat there, happily patient.

"Do you know why you're here?" the officer said eventually.

Of _course _he did. The list of laws he had broken was probably long enough to wrap around Coruscant twice, but he wasn't stupid enough to say that.

"Uh, no," Luke said, adding a dopey grin. Seeing as he was only wearing his white tunic, light brown breeches, and distinctive, Tatooinian style, cloth-bound boots, Luke thought he was doing a decent impersonation of a farmer boy from the back end of the galaxy. "Why, officer?"

"You are now a suspect in the pending galaxy-wide investigation against the thief commonly known as Phantom," the officer said seriously.

…apparently, he _didn't _know why he was here, but all his wishes to whoever had such a bad name as _Phantom_.

Luke blinked. "Who?"

The officer shot him a suspicion filled look, but took out a small hand-held, portable holo projector and set it on the table separating the two. He pressed a button and a small holo appeared of a hooded human male.

Luke leaned forward, squinting at the picture.

"Sorry," Luke shook his head and leaning back. "No idea who _that_ guy is."

Actually, he had a pretty a good idea of who that guy was. Despite the fact that the figure was doing a good impression of a Wookiee with such grainy footage and the hood of his overtunic was arranged so that all that was visible from the prominent shadows was his nose and few pieces of blond hair, it was still _him. _

All his wishes to himself, it seemed. Luke swallowed, his throat suddenly very dry.

(Which was, of course, odd. That would imply he was _scared _or _disconcerted _or _majorly freaking the frack out _or something totally _not _happening.

Of _course _not.)

"That's _Phantom_," the officer said, raising an eyebrow. "You don't recognize Phantom? He's in every tabloid, on every news channel - hells, even the _Jedi _know about him."

"Phantom?" Luke repeated in disbelief - and no, his voice did not squeak up a few octaves. "_What?"_

"Kid, where in this bright galaxy are you from?" the officer demanded. "There's a galaxy-wide manhunt for Phantom and bounties worth a near billion credits on him! He's the biggest, baddest thief in the galaxy and you don't even _know his name?"_

_Well, I didn't know that they called me _Phantom.

"No!" Luke squawked, before he could stop himself. "And you arrested me now _why?"_

"Because you match Phantom's description to a near _t_," the officer snarled. "So right now, I want to know where you came from and where you're going."

"You've got to be _kidding_ me!" Luke cried. Not only was he being arrested as a suspect in a case against himself, but apparently the entire galaxy called him _Phantom_.

That had to be the most uncreative thing he had _ever _heard.

(And, no. Luke was not at all frightened - or even slightly _disconcerted _- that the entire galaxy watched his every move and waited for him to slip up so they could feast on him like a rampaging sarlacc, so hungry it actually attempted to move.

It would be downright _silly _to be afraid of things like the world at large after him.

…he who was named _Phantom._)

Before the officer could answer, the door to the interrogation room banged open and three clonetroopers marched in.

Suns. He knew he was in trouble if he was thankful to see clonetroopers.

"Officer Zeg," the leading one said, making the officer snap to attention, "the boy's application to the Galactic Naval Academy has been verified, as has his identification. He is free to go and so are you."

The officer said nothing as he stood and left immediately, handing the keys to Luke's handcuffs to the clonetrooper with a salute.

One of the clonetroopers closed the door as the one who had spoke moved to sit in the officer's vacant seat. The clonetrooper took off his helmet, and Luke was greeted with a face that resembled a geezer of a krayt dragon. The trooper had wrinkled, scarred skin and black eyes that focused on him with a laser-like intensity.

Luke was absolutely _not _intimidated.

"I would love to stay and chat all day," Luke hinted, jingling his handcuffs, "really, it's been a pleasure, but if I could just go…_now_, maybe?"

(You know, so he could go have a quiet aneurysm in a corner of a Coruscant alley fifty levels beneath the surface with only mutated rats for company?)

Not at _all _intimidated.

"You know," the trooper said finally. "You remind me of someone I used to know."

Luke was suddenly hit with a icy cold wave of dreaded déjà vu.

"His name was General Skywalker. Know him?"

Luke slammed his head down on the table.

"You've _got_ to be kidding me."

* * *

"The crimes of Anakin Skywalker are this, having been investigated, confirmed, and penalized by the Jedi High Council," Shaak Ti read off a datapad. "At age nineteen, then-Padawan Skywalker journeyed to Tatooine when on assignment to guard Senator Padmé Amidala of Naboo after a series of recurring prophetic dreams of his mother, Shmi Skywalker-Lars, in pain. Upon arrival, he found his mother had been abducted by the indigenous peoples of Tatooine, the Tusken Raiders, and tortured to near death. In revenge for his mother's death, Padawan Skywalker killed every Tusken Raider in the camp, including the men, women, children, and mounts. Taking into account an intense stage of grief at the loss of Padawan Skywalker's caretaker."

Skywalker flinched and Mace Windu took a deep breath, releasing his anger into the Force. It would do no good to rage at the man, he reminded himself. Skywalker had been nearly emotionally catatonic for years now - that would probably never change.

"During this year," Shaak continued. "at a time and place undisclosed by Skywalker and undiscovered by the Council, Padawan Skywalker met and married his wife, name also undisclosed by Skywalker, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, and Jedi Grand Master Yoda. Three years later, when then Jedi Knight Skywalker was twenty-two, his wife became pregnant. This directly violates the vow of personal attachments."

Mace would bet his lightsaber that every Council Member wished they had Shaak's composed nature. Nearly emotionally catatonic Skywalker may be, but that didn't mean _totally. _Years locked in a Force-blocking cell had done little to help Skywalker's mental shields, and everyone in the room could feel the wild fluctuations between gut-wrenching loss and a small spark of anger, nearly drowned out by his overwhelming depression.

"Knight Skywalker, spurred on by recurring prophetic dreams of his wife and child dying in childbirth, went to the Supreme Chancellor Palpatine - then unrevealed as Darth Sidious - for advice. When Supreme Chancellor revealed to Knight Skywalker that he was Darth Sidious, Knight Skywalker came to Jedi Master Mace Windu to inform him of his discovery. After being instructed to stay at the Jedi Temple, Knight Skywalker followed Jedi Master Mace Windu regardless and arrived to see Master Windu's confrontation with Darth Sidious. Before Master Windu could deliver the final blow, Knight Skywalker intervened by cutting off Master Windu's hand, giving Darth Sidious enough time to throw Master Windu out the window - injuries which he later recovered from. Knight Skywalker directly interfered with the extermination of a enemy of the Jedi Order and criminal of the Galactic Republic. State of extreme desperation taken into account."

Mace calmly and methodically pilfered his residual anger - and outright _rage _and not mention _betrayal - _into the Force. And, by the Force, he would be lying if the sight of Skywalker curling in on himself a little bit more did not feel the least bit good.

"Knight Skywalker then proceeded to fall to Darth Sidious's false promises of teaching him Force techniques on how to save his wife and child; he was rechristened as Darth Vader."

Skywalker's head was nearly touching the floor now, and while Mace could not tell if it was due to the mention of his dead wife or his foray into the Dark Side, there was a part of him that did not care and was simply glad he felt the pain that everyone else did.

"Due to the nature of the Dark Side's initiation ceremony, so to speak, which requires mass, cold-blooded murder, Darth Sidious sent Darth Vader first to Mustafar to exterminate the Separatist leaders there, who had personally offended Darth Sidious with their refusal to cooperate with him any longer. During this time, the clonetroopers were to storm the Jedi Temple and kill all Jedi there. After the mission at Mustafar, Darth Vader was to go back to Coruscant to help with Order 66."

Mace just released those feelings into the Force as well.

"However, after Darth Vader finished his mission on Mustafar and before he was to leave the planet, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi and Darth Vader's wife both arrived on planet. The method and discovery of Darth Vader's actions and fall to the Dark Side were undisclosed by Master Kenobi. Darth Vader's wife, who at the time was heavily pregnant, confronted him first. The ensuing confrontation ended with Darth Vader's wife being Force-choked into unconsciousness and Master Kenobi and Darth Vader engaged in a duel."

If any other feelings were truly being released into the Force and not just broadcasted into it, Mace couldn't tell. Skywalker's feelings of a mix of a stifling rampaging, soul-deep agony could not drown out the other masters' combined rage. Obi-Wan's shields were so high and tight that Mace could barely tell him from the chair he sat on.

"Before a clear victor could be determined, Darth Vader's wife went into labor and pleaded for his help, in which Darth Vader ceased efforts of the duel immediately and went to his wife's side. This gave Master Kenobi the opportunity to successfully knock Darth Vader into unconsciousness, take him prisoner, and go the asteroid field of Polis Massa for medical help for Darth Vader's wife and to contact Jedi Grand Master Yoda. Grand Master Yoda, who had retreated after being unable to defeat Darth Sidious, was in the area and arrived, accompanied by an undisclosed companion.

"Darth Vader gained consciousness half-way through his wife's labor, but was unable to move due to the restraints and sedation placed on him by Master Kenobi. Darth Vader's wife proceeded to give birth to twins, Luke Anakin and Leia - middle name undisclosed by Master Kenobi - Skywalker. However, Darth Vader's wife died on the operating table alongside his daughter within ten minutes after birth."

Mace attempted to watch with clinical disinterest as Skywalker's breathing sped up rapidly, face still facing the floor, and metal binders creaking under the force of his mechanical hand.

He couldn't manage it.

"Darth Vader, feeling the death of his wife and daughter through the Force, overpowered the restraints and made it into the nursery ward, where his son was being tended to," Shaak continued, and Mace thought that she was lucky to be able to keep her gaze on the datapad the entire time. "Darth Vader interrogated the medical droid and, discovering that his wife and daughter were dead, took his son from the medical center and, hijacking the ship Master Kenobi had arrived in, disappeared to places unknown and undisclosed."

"Stop," Obi-Wan suddenly spoke up. He didn't flinch when the entire Council turned to stare at him, all thankful to be able to look away from Skywalker, writhing on the floor. "This is too detailed - the man needs not hear it again!"

Shaak Ti acknowledged him with a nod, but Mace said nothing. He didn't think he could.

"Taking into account an intense stage of grief and both emotional and mental instability. Skywalker, having been announced a criminal and enemy of both the Jedi Order and the Galactic Republic, now spearheaded by the Emperor Palpatine, also known as Darth Sidious. Skywalker disappeared for the next seven years, only being spotted by undercover Jedi on various planets. During all incidents, he was accompanied by a young boy - Luke Skywalker. Moving planets whenever he was spotted and under several different disguises, Skywalker eluded the Jedi until he took up residence on the Outer Rim planet of Andooweel, where a Jedi informant reported their residency. At the time, Luke Skywalker was nearing seven years old. Luke became sick with an unidentified and undisclosed disease, and whatever resources Skywalker had were insufficient in healing the disease - including Force healing, which only held off the disease temporarily."

At this point, nobody could bear to look at the man on the floor, shaking uncontrollably.

"When Skywalker realized the such resources could not be found on-planet, and his son too weak to take an extended journey to a planet with sufficient resources. Instead, realizing the Jedi were closing in on his location, he took his son to the nearby planet of Tatooine to stay with his stepbrother and sister-in-law, Owen and Beru Lars, while he sought out the resources needed. However, upon arrival in the town of Anchorhead, Luke, delirious with fever, got separated from Skywalker. Skywalker searched the entire town, and eventually found his son's clothes, empty of a body in a small alley way - his son had died of the fever.

"The crimes included in this are running from authorities and ignoring summons, theft, bribery, and possible identity theft and fraud."

For once, Mace was glad that Shaak spared the other crime from Skywalker's ears - the illegal possession of a Force-sensitive child; the Jedi Order had legal rights to all Force-sensitive children…no matter what their parents wanted. Or didn't want, for that matter.

"This gave the Jedi enough time to catch up to Skywalker," Shaak continued. "Skywalker - taking into account an intense stage of grief - surrendered without a fight and was brought to Coruscant, where he was tried for his crimes."

Vader or Skywalker, Mace didn't know. All he knew was that this pathetic man, nearly curled upon the ground, was missing the fiery pride and fierce determination that characterized both men.

"Having been tried for these crimes, it was decided that it was both the Jedi Order and the former Knight Skywalker who had failed. Skywalker was to be in solitary confinement for seven years - one year for each year he ran from the authorities - and his former master, Jedi Master Obi-Wan Kenobi, was to rehabilitate him in the ways of the Jedi."

This man was a shell of both.

"Upon the end of his sentence, today, we have deemed Anakin Skywalker worthy of return to the Jedi Order, with a few concessions. Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker is not allowed to go anywhere but the public access rooms of the Jedi Temple, nor allowed to exit the Temple. His duties shall be gradually reinstated, starting with rotating guard duty. Knight Skywalker is prohibited from using his lightsaber set above the minimum setting. Knight Skywalker is also given back his old quarters. Jedi Knight Anakin Skywalker, you have successfully served your sentence and been rehabilitated successfully. This is the Jedi Council's will. May the Force be with you, Knight Skywalker."

A shell he may be, but that raged-filled roar that was suddenly strangled with a choked cry that sent the man down to the ground, wracked with tearless sobs, certainly got the message across.

* * *

_Don't look at the essay_, Leia told herself, very consciously staring at the wall. Do _not_, under _any _circumstances, look at the essay.

Yep, no need to look at the essay. It wasn't like it was the key to her future or anything important.

Nope, nothing important…

…nothing at all.

Nothing, nothing, nothing, nothing, nothi - maybe one sneak peek wouldn't hurt?

Leia chanced a glance across the room, where the deceptively innocent pile of flimsies was lying on the desk and then cursed herself.

She _knew _this speech by heart. Leia had prepared it months ago, written and rewritten every single line, and practiced until she was reciting lines in her sleep and knew the font size and color forwards, backwards, and sideways. She had run over it with her aunts multiple times, her parents more than a dozen, asked all of her tutors for feedback - including her very perplexed math tutor, a couple of guards and servants, and even that fish vendor from downtown Aldera.

But that didn't help any. The speeches were only _fourteen _hours away, and she _really _wished her mother was here to sooth her nerves. The speeches were only fourteen hours away!

Don't look at the essay. Don't look at the essay. Don't look at the essay. By the Mother, if she kept this up, she'd finally get up in front of the Senate for her speech and then she'd say, "Don't look at the essay," and would positively _drown _in embarrassment, considering her entire future went down the drain right then and there and everyone would remember her as Crown Princess Don't Look At The Essay -

When there was a knock at the door, Leia jumped off the bed and attempted to stifle her laugh of joy at the distraction as she did a quick check around her guest room to make sure there wasn't any underwear lying around.

Swinging open the door, Leia tried to hide her grin when she asked, "Yes?"

Senator Arris's aide looked very confused as to why the princess looked so happy to see him.

"Your Highness," the aide dipped his head, "there is someone here to see you."

Leia blinked and stepped out from her doorway into the lounge of Senator Arris's apartment. It was a circular room that reminded Leia painfully of home with frescos of Alderaan's rolling hills and varied flora, Alderaanian maple wood flooring to match, and a large arch that led out to a veranda. Semi-circular, velvet-cushioned couches faced one another with a coffee table in the middle, which was holding a vase of flowers Leia was nearly certain hadn't been there before.

And one of the couches was holding someone Leia was very, very relieved to see.

"Padmé!" Leia cried, coming down the steps a little faster than a princess should to face the handmaiden, who stood and curtsied.

"Your Highness," she greeted, her eyes crinkling in an almost-smile. Leia grasped the woman's hands and couldn't keep from smiling. Standing in Padmé's presence, she already felt herself calming down and her nerves seeping away.

It was just something about her.

(It was also something about seeing the only person you actually knew on this entire planet.)

"Your Highness?" the aide asked unsurely.

"Everything is all right," Leia assured, "thank you, and please go back to your duties."

The aide nodded and left.

"It's wonderful to see you, Padmé," Leia turned back to her, sitting down next to Padmé's vacated spot.

"Please, sit," Leia invited. "What brings you here?"

Padmé sat down as well, smoothing her red skirts.

"It is a pleasure to see you as well," she returned. "I did not get a chance to speak with you at the events, but my mistress informs me you did very well. She is very impressed."

Ah…

…ah…

…ack!

Co - coherent thoughts…coherent thoughts…shut your mouth, Leia, you're gaping…Padmé's staring.

You - you can do this…just…just move your jaw upward and attach it to your teeth.

"Really?" Leia squealed.

…you _should _be able to do this.

Leia clapped both hands over her mouth.

"I mean," Leia's voice broke - why can't she just die from embarrassment now, again? "It is a great honor - please, tell Her Excellency I am grateful for her confidence."

"I will," Padmé assured, chuckling. She gestured to the clear vase of yellow and blue flowers that held their petals out to the setting sun's rays. "My mistress asked me to bring these to you."

Leia, right then and there, could have died happy.

"Uh…" she managed. _You can string words together, Leia! You've been doing it since you were two._ "Thank you. Thank you so much, they're so pretty. What type of flower are they?" Leia asked. She didn't recognize them, even with Aunt Tia's extensive botanical studies behind her.

"I'm glad you like them," Padmé said, reaching out to stroke one of the small petals. "They are ryoo flowers from Naboo."

"Thank you," Leia said sincerely. There was look on Padmé's face that made Leia want to give her a hug. Was it homesickness? Padmé was from Naboo, after all, and Naboo was a long way from here. Whatever Leia thought of the Supreme Chancellor, she had a feeling that the taskmaster probably wasn't big on giving vacations. "Thank you very much, it means a lot to me. Please give Her Excellency my thanks."

"I will," Padmé repeated, her eyebrows creasing together.

Before the conversation could fall flat, Leia desperately tried to think of a subject change but Padmé beat her to it, asking, "May I ask you a question?"

"Of course," Leia said, glad to see Padmé's expression smoothed out. She bit her tongue to stop her from telling Padmé that she had already asked a question.

"I noticed that you have only worn green - why is that?" Padmé asked curiously. "Is that your favorite color?"

Leia swallowed her laugh. If she had to choose one color to dress monochromatically in for the rest of her life, it certainly wouldn't be _green_.

"No," Leia shook her head, but couldn't help but smile at the thought of her home planet and some of the customs she said she disliked but was secretly proud of. "On Alderaan, there is a tradition in the royal family - each member wears one of the colors of Mother Aldera. My mother, as queen, always wears purple - purple is the color of the Mother's mountains, the mountains that bridge the gap between the ground and the sky. Purple should always remind her of her duties to both the people of Alderaan and the galaxy. My father, as king consort, always wears blue - the color of the sky and of the galaxy. As king consort, he should watch over the entire planet and shield them from the might of the galaxy. I, as heir to the throne, always wear green as the color of the coming rebirth of the earth - it's to remind me of my duties as the next queen of Alderaan and to the people of Alderaan, who live on the Mother's earth."

And paint her brown, roll her in fur, stick antlers on her head, and call her a nerf if _that _wasn't one of the scariest prospects ever.

Padmé tilted her head, and said nothing for a minute, just staring at her.

Leia glanced from side to side, nervously fiddling with the edge of her sleeve when Padmé finally said, "I have no doubt you will be a great queen, Your Highness."

Leia looked up in surprise, only to see Padmé standing and curtsying to her.

"Anything else would be folly," Padmé declared, looking her straight in the eyes with a strangely intense stare.

Leia, taken aback, was glad to see Padmé's face soften again and give her a smile. "I must take my leave, Your Highness, but I wish you luck tomorrow…though I doubt you need it."

Before Leia could register everything that had just happened, Padmé was already out the door.

"Well," Leia told the vase of flowers, "that was weird."

* * *

Eirtaé Ganye was a smart woman.

Well, not necessarily _smart - _though she was that, too - she was clever. It was what got her the position as then-Queen Amidala's handmaiden, despite being blonde-haired and blue-eyed. It was her skill with protocol and rooting out traitors and good gossip that made her a valuable asset.

Eirtaé, clever she may be, had not always been patient.

But trial, error, and time had taught her patience and also to trust her instincts, and that's why she was up, far past midnight, sitting at her little desk in the small antechamber off of the Supreme Chancellor's handmaidens' chambers. The antechamber was equipped with a computer terminal that received any and all data intelligence the Supreme Chancellor requested. It was dark and quiet, only a glimmer of light came from the crack under the door to the room with Eirtaé's soft, warm bed.

"Patience, indeed," Eirtaé muttered, rewinding the security footage once again.

Instincts, as well. There were obvious reasons some of the candidates' profiles hadn't sat well with her, but Crown Princess Leia Organa's profile didn't have an obvious reason. All of her records, from the ground up, had been spick'n'span clean, (as in everything matched up with what it should, not that the princess had been the exact paragon of excellence) but there was _something…_

And that something was was why Eirtaé was rewinding and slowing down the footage of Princess Organa glancing around the Grand Convocation Chamber at the princess's first point in the debate.

Eirtaé scowled. Her mistress had staged her little decoy plan with Sabé at the candidates' dinner before Eirtaé had managed to get a good background check done. Not that the background check had brought anything up, but the fact that there was absolutely _nothing _made Eirtaé even more suspicious.

And then, of course, Padmé had to go over and give flowers in her own name to the girl.

Eirtaé rolled her eyes to the ceiling. Not that it wasn't good to see Padmé finally interacting with someone after…_that_, but of all the times Padmé decided to become interested in something, it had to be _now. _

Now! Eirtaé hastily froze the footage, zooming in on the princess's neck. There was something - oh.

Oh, _no_.

Eirtaé didn't know how long she stared at the screen, but she _did _know that things were now starting to add up in her mind.

No…

At that, Eirtaé very - very, _very_ - calmly sprang out of her chair and threw open the door.

"Dané!" she called. That call may have sounded a bit like a shriek, though. "Would you come here, please?"

* * *

No one saw the figure creep up onto the veranda and slide easily into the lounge. Nor did anyone see the figure step into the guest room that housed the sleeping princess.

And that sleeping princess did not wake nor flinch when a hair was plucked from her head and a drop of blood from her skin.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Star Wars material.

Up next:

_Chapter Six_

_Well, This Is Going Well_


	6. Not Many Reasons To Not Freak Out

_Chapter Six_

_Not Many Reasons To Not Freak Out_

Ahsoka gunned the swoop bike as fast as it could go, continually cursing party-loving, overgrown slugs the entire way.

When she had informed Jabba of her leaving, he had insisted on throwing a party for her. That hadn't been too bad, but then there was the after party of the party.

And then the after party of the after party.

Thankfully, he had gifted her with this swoop bike - and the swoop bike was definitely a faster, better model than any other she could of gotten on Tatooine. While it was certainly making up for lost time, she had no doubt that Luke was already off-planet. Or, at least, in some hole _on-_planet that she wouldn't be able to rat him out of.

Ahsoka released a breath she hadn't realized she was holding when the Banais' majordomo came into sight. She hopped off the bike before it even came to a full stop, patted her belt to make sure her lightsaber and shoto were there, and marched up the path to ring the doorbell - and ended up doing so a bit more violently than she intended.

A dark-haired woman answered the door and then tried to close it almost immediately.

Ahsoka put her foot in the doorway, trying to smile.

It turned out like a rictus.

"Where is Luke Skywalker?"

The woman froze, and a murderous expression crossed her face. She then smiled back Ahsoka.

"Let me get my dear, _dear _husband."

* * *

_This, _Padmé thought with a grimace, examining her reflection in the window, _is going to taking a lot of makeup to cover._

Padmé sighed, turning away from the window that took the place of a wall in her private sitting room. The style of her private palace in Galactic City differed greatly from the trends of the outfits she wore - Padmé replaced the brocaded, bodice-strangling, voluminous Coruscanti gowns she wore while in public with simple, columnar dresses traditional of Naboo in private. She did the same with her quarters.

Instead of the cold, straight lines of durasteel and lackluster transparisteel that dominated most of Coruscant - and the public access areas of her own palace - her private quarters were furnished with rugged, pale stone held up by downward tapering columns with bulbous capitals and the windows were filled with stained glass. The walls were painted with bright, symmetrical patterned frescos and the floors were bare marble.

Padmé curled her cold feet under her as she sat down on a low couch. All of her furniture, too, was not the monochromatic scheme favored by the high elite, but instead rich colors with intricate, hand-done embroidery.

She rubbed at her swollen eyes, staring blankly out the window over the dark skyline. It was so late - or, so early in the morning - that Padmé could nearly make out the stars through the lessened light pollution.

When would she stop?

When would she stop stupidly _deluding _herself that all was right in the world? When would she stop working herself to death for a simple relief from her memories? When would she stop staying up so late to hide from her nightmares? When would she stop shutting out the rest of the world, barring her own handmaidens?

When would it stop hurting?

By the Goddess, all she had wanted to do - from the beginning, from the very start - was to just set it all aside. Set aside the pain and mystery and _rage _and broken heart and - and just cherish the memories she had of her little girl.

But she couldn't. No matter how hard Padmé tried, she couldn't escape it. She couldn't think of her sweet little Leia making clumsy flower chains or giggling over bubbles in the bath without thinking of the same little girl, two and half years old and dead and gone and -

Padmé inhaled sharply, closing her eyes. Not right now.

But it had been because of the pain that she had rejoined politics and where she was right now - there was no _not right now _because the pain was always _now. _And no matter what she did, or said, or told herself it was always _now _and there was no grateful adoring of the time she _had _had with Leia because it was always _pain. _She couldn't rub the silk of Leia's hair ribbon between her fingers with a sad smile - Padmé just _couldn't. _

And not being able to appreciate her daughter (and son and husband - all dead and gone and _dead_)…that was the worst.

But Leia _now - _not her Leia, but Bail's Leia - well, that just hurt the most. Because _Bail's _Leia was beautiful and kind and alive and everything that Padmé knew _her _daughter would be…had she gotten the chance.

But she hadn't. But _Bail's _Leia had and, no matter what pain it caused her, Padmé was going to make damned sure that _this _Leia got every chance she could.

Padmé was startled from her musings by a knock at the door.

"Come in," she invited, standing and tugging her robe closer around her. "I was just - "

Padmé trailed off when she realized _all _of her handmaidens were filing into the room, every one impeccably dressed and strangely pale.

"What happened?" she demanded, instantly on high alert. This couldn't be good.

"My lady," Rabé stepped forward and Padmé inwardly groaned. Her handmaidens always had Rabé break bad news to her. "We have something important to tell you…"

Padmé watched attentively as Sabé stepped forward, a file clutched tightly in her hands. Padmé narrowed her eyes - the file looked like it had two different DNA profiles printed on the first page.

Not good at all.

* * *

"You know," Luke said conversationally, lifting the passed out bartender's head off of the bar. "_Not _being open until three in the morning might solve this little problem."

The bartender snuffled.

"Otherwise," Luke said, looking around the sports bar. Every other chair was upturned or broken and drenched in alcohol, the walls were stained with things Luke suspected were pure nightmare fuel, and of the few patrons left, every one was on the ground, either beaten to bloody pulp or just too drunk and passed out. "You got a real quality establishment here."

Luke let the bartender's head fall down with a dull _thunk _on the bar and kicked aside a chair to nearly step in a puddle of blood. Luke grimaced, hopping over fallen patrons to get to the holonet projector on the other side of the bar.

The problem with planets that were actually places someone in their right mind might want to live is that they _had _places worth putting security systems in. It took hours to find some place suitably disgusting.

Luke did _not _- absolutely did _not -_ screech (and even if he did, it would be very, very deep yelp - no, _stutter _of surprise with just a hint of shock) when he nearly went face down in what looked a like the unholy offspring of the backend of a worm and innards of a bantha.

Honestly, this sports bar - _Nukie's Nunaball Bar - _was still a little too high-end, but it was probably the only place Luke was going to find with a working holonet projector on short notice.

('Course, it wasn't that Luke was suddenly wary about being caught - you know, considering he was, apparently, the biggest baddie out there.

Not at all. Why would that _scare _him or something?

Not at…all.)

Luke clicked on the holoprojector and blue light flared through the bar. He caught the eyes of a patron who had groaned, having been woken up by the light.

"You might not wanna - " Luke winced as the guy faceplanted next to his own puke. " - never mind."

Luke turned back to the holoprojector, which - if he read it correctly - was showing a rerun of a nunaball game. Fiddling with the machine, Luke finally found the channel switch and started flipping through them.

Wow, he hadn't done this in ages. How had his eight-year-old self ever been able to figure out what channel was what when they were going so fast?

Luke hastily cut off that train of thought when he stumbled across something that looked like a news report. Cranking up the volume a little, Luke leaned against the bar.

_" - on to weather. Looks like it's going to be a rainy one, wouldn't you agree - ?"_

"C'mon," Luke said, flipping forward a couple of stations, "they _have _to have a crime channel…"

_" - oh, indeed! And now, let's go to Offy to see ten new ways to spice up your wardrobe!"_

Apparently, it would take him a little longer than he thought to find a news report on Phantom.

_"It's a serious one," _the actor said, and the holocam zoomed close on his face. _"and we're about to have company."_

A lot longer than he thought, actually.

Luke buried his face in hands.

He was going to be here for a while.

* * *

Leia took deep, calming breaths.

She could do this. She could do this. Of course, that implied that the Senate wouldn't slaughter her for what she was about to say…

Deep breaths. Deep breaths.

The mock-proposal of Candidacy Competitions scared Leia the most. The subject of the debates was always chosen, so there were no real suspicions cast on your political standpoint, but the mock-proposal was when you started letting your real stance shine through. However, you didn't want to take on _too _controversial a position, because the mock press conference was the day after and Leia didn't exactly wanted to be ripped apart by the teeming masses and have any blossoms of her career completely destroyed in the gaping, toothy maw of the Senate beast - right. Deep breaths.

De - deep breaths.

Leia bit her lip, glancing around the crowded lift. Senator Arris and his aide were on either side of her, but Senator Arris was _still _acting strangely and his aide seemed to be taking up on his cues. There were a variety of other senators and aides in the lift, but thankfully no other candidates.

Her proposal was going to be…interesting. Her father, former Senator Bail Organa, was known for two things: being a pacifist and a menace. Bail's unpopular views - you know, actual concern about beings' welfare - hadn't really gained him much support. So, to make sure that she didn't look like she was _not _backing her father's views but not as radical as him, her mother and father had helped her choose a relatively controversial topic, but had spent hours wording it so carefully as to appeal to (hopefully) everybody.

It was a real shame that they hadn't let her do her original topic - _An Essay On Why Emperor Cos Palpatine Desperately Needs a Make Over and to Rot in Hell_, _by Crown Princess Leia Breha Organa of Alderaan._

The lift's doors slid open silently and Leia took another deep breath - which kind of sounded like she gagging, but it was the thought that counted.

It was time.

* * *

"It's about damn time," Luke grumbled.

Luke had been standing next to this holoprojector for the past five hours, flipping through channels so fast that his fingers were nearly numb and he was now blind. Actually, the couple of drunks who woke up probably _were _blind because Luke still couldn't find the brightness switch. By the stars, gouging out his shriveled eyes and dipping them in a vat of acid probably wouldn't make a difference at this point.

(And, _no _the reason Luke was there so long had _nothing _to do with the fact that he maybe probably got a little sidetracked with a three hour marathon of _Galactic Bandits. _

No, he also did _not _get distracted by _Swoop Bike Racers of the Century _either. That would be just silly.

It would also be very silly for a nearly fifteen year old to jump up and down and sing along with the main theme song, off-tune at the top of his lungs.

…and if the bartender happened to wake up at that and Luke then had to knock him out with tankard to the head, that was just a complete accident.

A very, very accidental accident.)

So, all things considered, when Luke finally found a news report on galactic crime, it had, really, been completely understandable to jump on the only _not _overturned table and proclaim his greatness to the world.

If Luke had done such a thing.

…which he _didn't, _obviously.

_"Reports that crime rates are rising in Galactic City are especially disconcerting with the Candidacy Competitions," _a female Durosian was saying. _"How do think this will affect the Competitions, Skio?"_

The human male across the table shook his head. _"It's not these crime rates they have to worry about; it's Phantom. His recent strike on Corellia is further proof that he's coming straight for Coruscant. These pictures only further implicate him or her."_

_Well, they didn't exactly get my good side. _

Especially since the holo of the dark figure standing next to burning museum, cackling crazily, wasn't exactly him. In fact - Luke squinted - that didn't even look like the right _species…_or gender.

Okay, no problem. _No problem at all,_ Luke thought. And no, his hands _did not _shake when he shut off the holoprojector. _It's not every day somebody tells you that you're actually a woman…named _Phantom.

Luke stumbled out of the sports bar, and seeing the whizzing speeders over his head did _not _help with his roiling stomach.

'Least he was a _good-_looking woman. With very fine assets.

Standing up, Luke shook his head - which really didn't help either - and straightened. He wasn't Phantom, he was Luke Skywal - Luke Lars, cadet in the Galactic Naval Academy.

'Course, it would really help to have something to _do _for the three weeks he would have to spend wandering around Coruscant before term started. After all, breaking into hotels wouldn't really look good on his application…

Luke stopped dead.

Oh, _kreth _no.

To turn in his application - and the deadline was tomorrow - he had to mail into the Galactic Naval Academy. But it cost money to mail things in, and Luke wasn't about to use Kitster's money, and getting money legally meant getting…a _job_.

Luke swore loudly, startling a bunch of people, and turned to race down the street in the opposite direction.

And there was only one place on Coruscant where someone would hire him for four weeks with no resumé or any previous job experience.

Dex's.

Disclaimer: I do not own any Star Wars material, no copyright infringement intended, no money being made here, and all recognizable characters, places, settings, etc. all belong to their respective owners. I also do not own KittandChips's _Force Bond _series, which I referenced. But you all should seriously check it out!

Notes: Seriously, you guys have blown my mind. Thank you all so much for your reviews and comments! Y'all are the best!


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